


Blue Moon

by necrora



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesia, Evil Sam Winchester, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Piercings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 17:44:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1235425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necrora/pseuds/necrora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for spnkink-meme <a href="http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/82267.html?thread=30600539#t30600539">prompt:</a></p><p>Dean's so cute, he thinks Sam's possessed.</p><p>Of course, he always does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Moon

Creativity, Sam finds, is key. 

“Don’t move,” he chastises, breath lingering over skin, and slowly pushes the needle in. It barely bleeds this time, and Sam smiles to see three needles already glistening on his brother’s cock, proud of his skill. 

Dean’s hips buck, but the bonds are secure and he can only pant in pain, throwing his head back like a distressed stallion. The anger that had come full force and left a pretty bruise on Sam’s left cheekbone is spent now, just as his cock, and now there is only pleading and panic as he opens his mouth and begs, “Sammy, Sammy, please.” 

“I’m here, Dean,” Sam answers, and leans forward to suckle at Dean’s nipple, angry red from the new piercing. He twirls the metal under his tongue, happy to taste the slight blood mixed with the sweat. Maybe he could take it out and pierce it again, he thinks.

“Sammy,” Dean gets out. “Sam, you kicked Lucifer out. You can do it, it’s okay, everything’ll be okay, as long as you just—just come back. I’ll be okay.” 

“I’m back, Dean,” Sam says, raising his body to lick at the corner of Dean’s mouth. “I’m back.” 

Dean winces away. “Lucifer?” he asks, his voice incredulous, and Sam smiles at his brother’s newest guess. 

 --

The anger, at first, had been so pretty. 

“Fucker!” Dean bucks against Sam’s hold with an unexpected force, even for Sam, and he nearly gets away for half a second. He makes the mistake of reaching for his holy water instead of the door, however, and Sam grabs his ankles and pull, harsh, until Dean is dragging across the carpet. Dean tries to kick out, but Sam knows his every move and clamps down on the center of his spine, pressing until the hiss of anger turns into pain. 

“You could save both our times if we just skip this part,” Sam says, leaning forward so that he’s covering Dean’s entire body with his own, pressing hard with his elbows and knees, knowing it hurts like hell. 

“Get out of my brother,” Dean spits. He’s managed to turn his head around, and now Sam can see a profile of his face, outlined against the floor, panting. 

“No, not like that, sweetheart,” Sam says, and reaches with one hand to grab at the hem of his brother’s sweatpants, pulls them down jerkily to reveal the clean, untouched flesh. 

Sam knows his brother too well—had to, after all the years Dean caught him by surprise by headbutting him—and holds him down by the scruff of the neck. Dean, however, renews his bucking before snatching his arm back, catching Sam in the stomach with his elbow. Sam grunts, but holds on. 

“Not like that, bitch,” he says, and runs his fingers along the line of his brother’s ass. He thumbs at the hole, teasing for long moments filled with Dean’s panicked breathing, before kicking his brother’s legs apart and spreading him out. 

“Sam,” Dean pants, “Sam, Sam, don’t you fucking dare, don’t you let some low-grade demon bitch get you like that—“ 

“Oh babe,” Sam says, and he thrusts his fingers in, three at a time. 

Sam would have liked to hear what other guesses Dean might have come up with, but whatever Dean’s thinking, he keeps to himself, too busy screaming, muffled by the sheer force with which he pushes his own face against the floor, keeping in time with Sam’s cock riding into him, again and again. 

\-- 

It takes about two days for Dean to say, “You’re not a demon.” 

His voice is hoarse from all the shouting. His hands are still handcuffed because Dean just won’t fucking give up, but he’s only attached to the bed by a chain hanging from the collar on his neck, now, and his feet are unbound. That’s progress, somewhat, Sam guesses. He’s also accepting food from Sam, though that might be more necessity than anything else. 

“No,” Sam says, throwing his towel aside. He crawls on the bed, towards where Dean is sitting. 

For a moment, Dean lets Sam touch his cheeks, lies still as Sam’s fingers turn gentle for the first time. Then he turns his head. “I don’t care what kind of monster you are,” he spits. “Get out of my brother.” 

Dean’ll have to be more creative this time, Sam thinks, and he hums. 

\-- 

“You’re not Sam,” Dean says. His legs are in the air, his hips high off the bed, his feet pointing towards the ceiling. His eyes are fixed on some point above him as he’s held there, his legs spread to reveal everything. Sam’s slowly working him open, lazily lapping at his thigh, his fingers coming in and out. “You can’t be wearing him. Sam wouldn’t—“ Dean’s voice catches, briefly. “Sam wouldn’t take so long to ditch your fucking ass.” 

“If you’re good, I’ll let Sammy come out,” Sam tells him. He positions himself and pushes in, groaning at the feel of the warmth wrapping tightly around his cock after all this time. 

Dean guesses _skinwalker_ , as Sam forces him on his knees and shoves his cock into his brother’s mouth, a thumb held between molars so Dean can’t bite down. Spit and cum dribble down on both sides of Dean’s mouth, his jaw held wide open, his hands tied behind him. This is the second time in the same hour that Sam’s forced himself into Dean’s mouth and Dean’s knees are bleeding, his voice is gone and his eyes are still alive. 

“No,” Sam says, and makes sure Dean swallows. 

_Lucifer_ is the next one, and Sam contentedly licks at Dean’s cock, the three thin needles tantalizing underneath the pink skin rolling on his tongue. He eventually takes them out, but leaves the nipple piercings in. The faint tang of metal reminds him of Dean’s desperation. 

\-- 

“You’ve gotten much better,” Sam says, idly surfing the internet. The lunar festival is on the nineteenth, and the mayor election is about to begin. It’s supposed to rain tomorrow night.

Dean doesn’t bother answering as he kneels between Sam’s legs, licking along the shaft of his cock. He only has the collar on, now, and his hands are free to grip Sam’s hipbones, jerking in time with his head bobbing up and down. 

“Keep being good, and I’ll let Sammy come out,” Sam tells him, almost gentle as he pushes back Dean’s hair. 

“Fuck you,” Dean rasps. 

Sam shrugs. 

“Yes,” Dean says that night, the sound of the rain dropping on the window nearly drowning his word out. They’re both lying there, spent, and Sam has recovered from his orgasm just enough to take the covers and draw over Dean’s body, tenderly, lovingly. 

“Yes?” Sam repeats. 

Dean’s not looking at him. “Yes,” he says, tonelessly. “I’ll be good, I’ll listen, I’ll be your slut. Just let Sam go. Go find another body, anybody, and come back. I’ll wait. Just let Sammy go.” 

“Oh Dean,” Sam says. He leans over and kisses the back of his brother’s shoulders, and watches fascinated as the muscles ripple under all those scars. He trails down his brother’s back, kissing each vertebra, breathing in his scent blissfully. 

Dean is lying still for all of it, and Sam kisses his hipbones, one last time, before rearing over him. “You don’t understand,” Sam says. “What I want is for you to fight me, Dean.” His hands tighten, painfully, bruising the skin and jerking Dean out of his calm. “You have to keep fighting me,” he whispers, and twists Dean’s arms around hard enough to dislocate one shoulder. He has no idea if Dean’s obeying him or just fighting for his life, but he hums over the shouts of pain and anguish as he flips his brother over and bites down on his ass. 

\-- 

“Sam, Sammy,” Dean pants, and writhes, and tries to get away from the iron ring closing in around his cock, from the vibrator worming its way inside him. “Please,” he gasps, and suddenly pushes up to cup Sam’s face with both hands. Sam jerks, surprised, and accidentally drives the machine harder into Dean, causing both of them to wince. “Sammy,” Dean says, holding on, “just tell me—just tell me this isn’t demon blood, Sam, if you’re still there—at least tell me this isn’t you on demon blood.” 

Dean’s never guessed that yet. For some reason, the idea pisses Sam off more than anything ever had. He takes out the vibrator that he had been teasing his brother’s prostate with, and slams inside with his dick instead, setting a punishing pace. Dean’s hands slip from Sam’s face and Sam grabs them, pins them above Dean’s head, and licks along the arm. 

By the time Sam comes, blood trickles down Dean’s shoulder, and the ring around his cock is still tight. Sam doesn’t let him come as he simply lies there, heavy, watching the droplet of blood make its way down Dean’s torso. He thinks about licking it, but by now he probably has about a liter of Dean’s blood in his stomach, trying to digest it, confused by the molecules of the blood that is so similar to his but so much better, so much purer.

“Tell me,” Dean says, and Sam laughs, wild, because _would it really be better, me being this mad without demon blood, than drinking fifteen fucking demons dry, big brother?_

 --

“What the fuck do you want?” 

Dean’s voice is tired. Sam lifts his head up from where he had been spooning, enjoying the warmth of his brother, and puts his chin on Dean’s shoulder, the huff of breath against Dean’s ear asking the question for him. 

Dean doesn’t turn around. “You can’t be just here to fuck me,” Dean says. “Again and again. That can’t be your end game.” 

_If only you knew,_ Sam thinks, eyeing the pretty line Dean makes against the bed, but fair enough. He twists his upper body, to glance behind his back at the window. _It’s full moon tonight,_ he thinks, and, _what the hell._

“What do you remember from a month ago, Dean?” 

Dean’s turned around to face him, now, and he gazes at Sam, mouth slightly open. Sam licks his lips, wondering how he could appear so innocent and lost, after all this time. 

“I was in the motel room with my brother,” Dean says. 

“No.” Sam idly thinks about licking along the Dean’s jawline, savoring each bruise there before suckling at his neck. “You were in this room, with me. You don’t think we could have done this for a month in a motel room, do you?”

Dean has gone still. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“You never do.” Sam tries to remember what he said, all those years ago. “‘Yes, Dean, I’m a little annoyed. You know why?’ Because this is the _thousandth_ time I’ve seen that same moon rise and fall.” 

“No,” Dean says, and Sam’s not sure if he’s remembering the Trickster, or remembering _this_ : he doesn’t have much hope for the latter. 

“It’s groundhog month. I fuck you, again and again, then when that fucking moon falls, it’s back to the beginning. You forget again, I have to re-train you again. You fight again.”

“No,” Dean says. 

“I tried to figure out what happened. I tried fucking you. I tried letting you fuck me. I tried killing myself. Doesn’t matter; nothing ever changes. It’s the first of September, all over again.” He hasn’t tried killing Dean, but he doesn’t have much hope for that, either. 

“No,” Dean says. 

Sam catches him before he can rush out the door, surprisingly fast and desperate for someone who’s been fucked and abused solidly for a month. He slams Dean’s head against the cold metal, just as desperately, and bites down on his ear and thinks _you don’t get to escape, you don’t get to leave after doing this to me,_ you’re _the one who left me here by myself,_ again and again.

“ _No,_ ” Dean says. 

“I watched you die a hundred times that Tuesday and never gave up, Dean,” Sam whispers. “How many moons, do you think, it took for me to learn how to do _this_?” 

Dean doesn’t stop screaming for a long, long time. 

 --

“I’m sorry.” 

Sam twitches from where he lies, but he doesn’t move otherwise. At this point, Dean could drive a knife through his heart or suck his cock, he doesn’t care. The switch is almost here, anyways. 

Dean’s voice comes anyways, hoarse. “I’m sorry. For not figuring it out sooner. For not getting you out sooner.” 

_For leaving me here,_ Sam thinks. And: _For letting me go mad._ And: _I’m so lonely, Dean, god, please come back._

Instead, he says out loud, “Morning’s coming, Dean,” and looks up at the sky through the window, and knows Dean watches with him.


End file.
